


Roots

by Bouzingo



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Show Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouzingo/pseuds/Bouzingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Opera House has emerged from its slumber, listeners, as though it is an unnameable thing rising from the depths of the ocean. We thought it lost, consumed by the swarm of puppies in the basement, but it is there, just as much the citadel of Western European music and culture as it's ever been."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roots

You always meet someone while they're in the middle of writing a sentence. It is merely a matter of how close to the end they are. Welcome to Night Vale.

Hello Night Vale. I know we are all reeling from the communal frissons scheduled between four and five o'clock this morning, but it is necessary to start today's news with one more chill-inducing event.

The Opera House has emerged from its slumber, listeners, as though it is an unnameable thing rising from the depths of the ocean. We thought it lost, consumed by the swarm of puppies in the basement, but it is there, just as much the citadel of Western European music and culture as it's ever been.

Resident architects have declared the Opera House to be structurally sound, and completely free of puppies. If I may editorialize so early in the programme, I think this is great news!

Older listeners might remember those sparkling evening, presided over by the mysterious Board of Directors, of which Old Woman Josie was chair. Who can forget, of those who were there, the artistry of every component of those shows, the sense of community that came with coming together to witness, to create something beautiful? The theatre is nothing without an audience after all.

How we cried, as a collective, how the theatre breathed when we loved something we could not understand, and did not need to. How we screamed in horror when several chandeliers of varying size plummeted into the audience, killing several devoted patrons! The confusion of visiting directors from places like Luftnarp and Austria when faced with an opera house that had no pit, no musicians, and most remarkably, no singers. The several hours of darkness we experienced together on that memorable and unrepeatable premiere of Dvorak's _Rusalka_. Perhaps something of those golden memories can be added to, with this new chance we have.

Perhaps some of those people who were so central to the Opera House's success will return from whatever, angelless hiatus they have taken!

Only subliminally connected, but the folks at Dark Owl Records have given me a flyer printed on repurposed newspapers from the 1970s. Apparently, they are instating a vinyl-only policy storewide. 'Vinyl's the way to go man!' said a representative, dark-ringed eyes wide with zealous fervour, 'You're not _experiencing_ music if you can't hear the skips and pops from its physical form. Its _physical form_ dude. Would you talk with someone if they were just on the Internet? I didn't think so. I don't want to talk with music unless it's on vi-vi-vi..."

The representative then started emulating vinyl's pops and scratches and could not finish her sentence.

And now, a word from our sponsors:

What is language, really? A device to configure our meaningless howls into the sky into something of worth, of more depth than our immediate need to communicate? Is it possible to communicate without language?

Yes. Extremely possible. We have mastered the art. We are no longer constrained by your words, no longer are we slaves to syntax, freed are we from phonics. Behold.

AhhhhhhahahahahahhhhhhhhhhOE

GrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeSSSSsSss

SSSSssskeekekkekekekekekekeke

You see?

_You see?_

_Do_ you see?

Kentucky Fried Chicken. Enskakiddifruh

Subway workers report that there may be small delays on certain connections today, particularly those that run under the new Opera House. It appears that the building, which previously had a foundation of a manmade nature, is actually rooted into the ground.

'There are roots of colossal size, bursting through the subway track,' train conductor Francesca Mendel said in a very crackly phone call earlier today. 'And there are snakes all over the roots. It's really quite intimidating. Luckily, we subway workers are pretty skilled in the art of offtrack train navigation. We should be up and running again in... Ugh, Danny, there's another snake in my carriage. Anyway, once we take care of all these snakes and get a crew down here to start digging tunnels thru the roots, I reckon subway service will be just as punctual and comfortable as it's ever been. That's to say not at all.'

And listeners, I found it very difficult to hear Francesca because the strains of Wagner's _Ride of the Valkyries_ was in danger of drowning everything else out.

I don't like to assume anything, especially after the last seemingly divine intervention was proven to be a very convincing hoax carried out by angels, which of course are not real and only tell lies. But I have to say this reminds me of the few short weekends years ago that our humble little town played host to those large and jolly Scandinavians who drank all of our alcohol and then repaid us with large trunks of gold. That payment ultimately proved to be useless because at the time the City Council had devalued precious metals and in their place put plants. But the gesture was nonetheless appreciated.

Such a rare convergence listeners: the return of the Opera House and the return of our Norse visitors. I can only speculate on what this all means. For now, traffic

Footprints in the sand need only a small wind to be erased. And then what proof would there ever be of a walk in the desert, beyond memory, which is just as tenuous as sand? Would proof ever be needed? Why would one person ask another about that solitary walk in the desert, so long ago?

Perhaps that person would be more interested in the blood on the other's hands, or the haunted look in their eyes each night before they lay down to sleep. Perhaps it would be better not to ask about the desert at all, forget that there was ever such a barren landscape, containing nothing.

Certainly nothing that could cause such discomfort. One would hope so. Deserts are innocent places. It is the act of desperation that makes them less so. The act of rage that stains the sand, sooner or later blown away. The water absorbed by the thirsty ground. The haunted look in their eyes before they lay down to sleep.

Yes, perhaps it is better not to ask. Nobody goes for walks in the desert.

This has been traffic.

Listeners, apparently the new Opera House is made entirely out of wood! We know this because it is apparently also on fire. How it got to be on fire is anybody's guess, but my reports say it has all the hallmarks of a certain ritual for a certain pagan pantheon.

Thankfully, the fire has not spread to neighbouring buildings, though the smoke is quite black and blocking out the sky. The sound of the fire is deafening. Witnesses report the cacophony of a full orchestra beginning to tune up, except amplified to an unbearable degree.

'It is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard,' Doctor Dubinsky from the Earth Sciences Department of Night Vale Community College said. 'But it is just so sad.'

Sad indeed, listeners. To speak frankly for a moment, I was hoping that the return of the Opera House would signal also the return of Old Woman Josie, who hasn't... er... who's doing quite well these days but maybe hasn't been as active as she was when she was Younger Woman Josie! Certainly nobody has heard from her these days, or seen her doing her errands at the Market Square or... what?

Anyway, as I was saying. Sad news about the opera house. Let's go to the Weather

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=55W21fhwD9o

The opera house has been reduced entirely to ash, though the roots remain. The ash was collected by devotees to the gods whose rituals caused the fire, and will be used to create the finest glass in many colours. Housed within the glass will be the music that we remember only vaguely

All of our hotels have been booked to maximum capacity by a few truckloads of foreign folks who look like they're ready or a good time! It's going to be a rollercoaster of a month, let me tell you. The last time Night Vale hosted these visitors... well, I shan't spoil the surprise. Certainly Carlos doesn't know what's in store.

And with that, I think I must leave you! Stay tuned for an hour and a half of Gregorian Chant, interspersed by the quiet exclamations of a child just realizing that life isn't fair.

Good night Night Vale. Good night


End file.
